


Pour Me Some Rum

by DrownedTrying



Series: Hetalia Fics [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Pirate England (Hetalia), Pirate Spain (Hetalia), Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedTrying/pseuds/DrownedTrying
Summary: Pirates. They’re outlaws, scandals, thieves, murderers. They plunder and kill without mercy, taking whatever and whoever they please. If they see something they like, there’s no doubt it’s theirs for the taking, no matter who dies at their blades, be it man, woman, or even child. So when the crew of theBurning Queenset their sights on a courier such as you, you knew there were only two options: go with them and face numerous consequences for merely existing, or fall to the ground with your blood spilled around you.





	1. Chapter 1

Pirates. They’re outlaws, scandals, thieves, murderers. They plunder and kill without mercy, taking whatever and whoever they please. If they see something they like, there’s no doubt it’s theirs for the taking, no matter who dies at their blades, be it man, woman, or even child. So when the crew of the _Burning Queen_ set their sights on a courier such as you, you knew there were only two options: go with them and face numerous consequences for merely existing, or fall to the ground with your blood spilled around you.

* * *

**Nassau, Bahamas, 1717**

You hurried through the crowd of people, sweat making your skin glitter under the hot sun. There wasn’t a guess in your mind as to what’s happening in the main part of the small town to cause such a huge commotion, but you didn’t have the time to stop and ask someone. The letter you carried was important. You weren’t sure why, but it’s not exactly in your job description to ask what it was.

“Watch it, lass!” a large man yelled. You backed away, offering the angry man an apologetic smile before turning to hurry off in the direction you were originally headed.

“I’m mighty sorry, sir! It won’t happen again!” you call over your shoulder. The man huffs and continues on his way. You shake your head slightly, returning your focus to the task on hand. This letter was to be delivered to a German man by the name of Ludwig Beilschmidt by noon, and judging by the position of the sun, it was almost time. Glancing around, you spot a familiar building and smile. You had been to this cavern only once or twice before on similar business trips. Glancing around you, you slip inside without being noticed.

“‘Ello th’re, lass. What ye be h’vin’?” the man behind the counter smiles. You return the smile.

“Alistair,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I’m not one to be drinking on the job.” The Scot laughs, a thundering sound that shakes the entirety of the cavern. Many of the patrons turn to see what all the fuss was about, but many go back to their previous conversations. A few hoots and hollers were thrown your way, but you pay them no mind.

“That be true,” Alistair finally says. He wipes a tear from his eyes before leaning across the counter, one elbow on the wooden structure and his other resting on his hip. “What be ye here for?” You sit on a stool, skimming the patrons before turning your gaze back to the redhead.

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Ludwig Beilschmidt,” you tell him. The man’s playful gaze turns serious, his bright green eyes darkening to match the murkiness of one of the many jungles that littered around the area.

“Ye best be car’ful on who ye be mee’in with,” he warns. His voice had lowered an octave. “That man be dang’rous. Tread light’y.” You nod, the smile slipping from your lips. That was the risk of being a courier; you never knew what kind of person you were trying to deliver letters to. Worse yet: who was following the letters closely.

“If you tell me where he is, I’ll give him the letter and leave before anything can happen,” you promise. Alistair studies you for a moment before standing straight. He grabs a random mug and spits into it, wiping the insides clean with his apron.

“Ye can find th’ man upstairs, last door on th’ right. Tell ‘im he needsta pay fer ‘is tab,” Alistair adds. You nod in thanks. Standing from the stool, you smooth out your brown dress before making your way passed the bar and up the creaky wooden stairs. The last door on the right was closed, so out of courtesy, you knock.

“Komm herein,” a deep voice orders. You twist the knob and push the door open, closing it behind you. A strong-looking man sits behind a desk, his silvery blonde hair slicked back with sweat and one of his large hands held a mug filled to the brim with ale. “Vat is it?”

“I have a letter for you,” you tell him. Ludwig’s steely blue eyes snap up to meet yours.

“A letter? From who?” You walk over and hand the German the letter, watching as he grabs a knife from his belt to open it. 

“I believe he called himself Feliciano. Also, the owner of this cavern requests that you pay for your tab,” you tell him. You bow your head before turning to the door.

“Sehr interesting,” Ludwig mutters, watching you leave. “Sehr interesting indeed…” Your footsteps are light as you walk through the hall and down the stairs. Alistair looks up as you emerge.

“‘Ow did it go?”

“It went fine. He received his letter, I told him about the tab, and I left,” you explained. The Scot nods, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Good. Ye best be on yer way, lass. Steer clear of the center o’ town. There be a hangin’,” Alistair says. You nod solemnly, now understanding why there was a crowd so early in the morn. Alistair smiles at you before nodding his head towards the door. “Be safe, lass.”

“You as well, Alistair,” you reply. Ignoring the gruff and dirty men that sat around circular tables, you walk out of the cavern, shielding your eyes as the sun glared down from its place in the heavens. No one glanced your way as you take a few steps away from the cavern. It had been a few months since you had last visited Nassau due to work, but every time you came, you made sure to take a look around. Something new always appeared during the time of your absence, but it was only something new to explore.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to walk towards the market.

The marketplace is small, but it was filled to the brim with food, trinkets, and weapons for sale. They offered trading and other services, but none caught your eye. Or, rather, you didn’t exactly meet their standards. Not like you wanted to, anyways. The local whores, mercenaries, and drunken bastards mainly worked for the pirates, whether it be to get something from the outlaw or from their target. Besides, if a courier like you were to be seen trading your services, you have no doubt you’d be lying dead within the hour.

Being a courier wasn’t your first choice, if you were to be honest with yourself. You had wanted to get married, have a family, make sure your husband came home to a home cooked meal, but all of that went down the drain when you quite literally ran into the wrong person. However, that’s a story for another time.

Sighing, you close your eyes and turn your face up to the sun for a moment. It had been storming quite a bit in the past few days, so the warmth of the sun is greatly welcomed. You peel your eyes open after a moment and continue on your way. Your ship didn’t leave for another day, so you had some time to look around and see what’s new. Aside from a new brothel built in the last fortnight or so, nothing much had changed in Nassau.

“Miss, miss! Try this!”

“Fruits for sale! Exotic fruits for sale!”

“We ‘ave daggers an’ guns fer a good price! Stop on by an’ choose a weapon!” The man screaming about his wares points at you, making you stop in your tracks. “Ye there, lass! Come by an’ see what I ‘ave in store!” After a moment of hesitation, you walk towards the vendor, watching as his smile grows.

“What have you to sale?” you ask upon arriving. The vendor puffs out his chest and sweeps his arms over his table, presenting sharp cutlasses and daggers alongside deadly guns and bullets.

“See for yerself, lass!” You take a good look at the weapons available, pressing your lips together thoughtfully. As much as you tried to be interested, nothing really caught your eye, and you think the vendor can tell. He grabs a dagger from the table, practically shoving it in your face. “‘Ow ‘bout this? She’s a real beaut, ain’t she?”

“Uh,” you start, lifting a finger. The vendor doesn’t let you speak as he puts the dagger down and picks up another blade.

“This has seen many a war! She was brought in by ‘er owner’s killer!” the vendor says excitedly. You give him an incredulous look.

“Sir-“ You’re cut off as the vendor shakes his head once more, practically slamming the dagger down as he frantically searches for a weapon to sell to you, muttering under his breath in a tongue you’re unfamiliar with. You watch with concern and slight worry as he slows to a stop. The vendor’s brown eyes shifts to yours, staring at you thoughtfully.

“I ‘ave one more to off’r ye,” he drags out. Curiosity peaked, you watch as he slowly pulls out a fancy wooden box. It was a dark red box, almost the color of blood. It was engraved with roses in silver, the silver clasps catching in the sunlight. The vendor watches you carefully as he slowly opens the box. Sitting on a black cushion lay a sharp dagger. Its handle was silver, and laying in the center of the hilt was a large blue crystal. Silver roses swirled around the crystal, almost as if its silver thorns were protecting the crystal from curious hands.

“My lord,” you breathe. The vendor smiles.

“Are ye interested?” he asks. You nod slowly, watching as he closes the box. 

“Tha’ll be one ‘undred Escudos,” the vendor says. Your eyes widen.

“One hundred?!” you repeat. The vendor nods as a smirk dances on his lips. “I haven’t that much!” The vendor stares at you thoughtfully.

“I can se’le for fifty Escudos,” he bargains. You bite your lip. You didn’t have many Escudos, mainly from paying for the ship to bring you to Nassau.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that, either,” you tell him. The vendor frowns, but is determined to make a sale.

“What ‘ave ye, then?” You knew better than to tell him how much you carried. Years of experience had taught you this.

“Seventy Reales,” you answer. The vendor looks shocked.

“Yer bloody joking!” he gasps. You shake your head, confirming his fears. “Sev’ty Reales for a dagger like this?! ‘Ave ye lost yer mind?!”

“You want a sale, do you not?” you question. The man grows quiet. “From my standing, it looks as if you haven’t had a sale in a while. I’m willing to hand you over the seventy Reales with the promise to send more business your way.”

“Hmm.” You can practically see the thoughts running through his mind. “Fine. O’ly if ye promise ta spread the word ‘bout my wares.” You smile in triumph, reaching into your coin purse to pull out the correct amount of coins. 

“You have my word, good sir.” After counting the coins, the vendor slides the box over to you, a tight smile on his lips. “A pleasure doing business with you.” The vendor says nothing as you walk away, your new dagger tucked away in your bag. You wander around the small market, occasionally stopping to see what the various vendors have for sale, although nothing caught your fancy. Deciding for a small break, you take a seat on one of the benches. Loud laughter and many conversations polluted the air, along with the shrill shriek of seagulls and the songs from the other birds that occupied the small island. Despite the noises, you found the atmosphere to be comforting, almost as if you had come together with family and friends in a reunion of sorts. 

“Mum, I want the pouch!” a little boy whined, catching your attention. You look over at the English boy and his mother with a smile. If you could make any wild guess, you would think they came to Nassau to visit for one reason or another.

“Not now, dear,” the boy’s mother said. She sounded and looked a little panicked, which made your smile falter. Perhaps she’s not used to the excitement of the Bahamas, which is quite different from England’s quiet and calm setting. Deciding you were done watching the mother and son, you pull the box from your bag and examine it. The box itself looked expensive, and just by looking at it, you could tell the silver was real. You wondered where the vendor had found such a box and dagger with a frown. Before you could open the box to take another look at the blade, a loud scream broke everyone out of their conversations. Acting quickly, you shove the box back into your bag and look up. Mothers were running from the marketplace with their children, the whores were screaming and crying, the men backing away. Every vendor was either shoving their wares into crates or shoving their earned coins into their bags to make a run for it. Standing, you make your way to where the commotion was in curiosity. What you saw made your blood run cold. 

A man lay motionless on the ground, his blood splattered about the area. Three men stood over him, one holding a bloodied cutlass and the others with their guns drawn. More men snickered behind them as the man holding the cutlass openly threatened to slash the throats of anyone who dared to come closer. A woman was on her knees before the scene, screaming the man’s name at the top of her lungs.

_Pirates,_ you bitterly thought. It was only a matter of time before they killed again.

“Tha’s ‘er! O’er there!” You start in surprise as one of the pirates points his gun towards you. Without thinking, you turn and run, easily getting lost in the fleeing crowd. The pirates started yelling and shouting as they do their best to follow you. You twisted and turned through the streets of Nassau, doing your best to disappear. The angry shouts of pirates began to fade, but you knew better than to believe that rubbish. 

“There ye are,” a voice growls, grabbing your arm and yanking you towards a building. You turn to land a punch on the man who’s got you, only for the dirty pirate to catch your fist in his large hand. His hand tightens around your fist, causing the bones in your hands to creak against the pressure. Your cries of pain only makes the pirate sneer.

“Let me go!” you scream. The pirate pays you no mind as he places his other hand over your mouth, dragging you back towards the market place. Or, more accurately, the docks. The pirates you thought you had lost catch up, laughing obnoxiously loud as you’re forced to walk. Your attempts to break free from your captor prove to be futile.

“Look a’ ‘er!”

“She be a pre’y l’il thing, she be!”

“Jus’ imagine th’ things we can do t’ ‘er!”

“Quiet, the lot o’ ye! The Cap’n wants ‘er alive an’ untouched!” the pirate holding you captive snaps. You attempt to bite his hand but to no avail. You can only walk towards the docks where the pirate ship is docked at. Tears spring to your eyes as the residents of Nassau peek at you from their doors and windows, but offer you no help. No matter how many eyes yours meet, not a single soul emerges from the safety of the buildings, cowering in fear. For an island that sees frequent pirate activity, you thought it to be strange that the people of Nassau hide in fear over a group of pirates. However, when you see the ship, you know exactly why they cower.

The _Burning Queen_ rises and falls with the rolling of the crystal clear waves. She stands threateningly over you, her fire red sails raised. This ship is known to have sunken more ships than any other known vessel, but her captain is a completely different story. The captain has taken more lives than Davy Jones himself, sending many a man to their watery graves. Though it’s told he’s a young fellow, he is more feared than Blackbeard, the most fearsome of pirates on the Seven Seas.

The wooden docks rattles under the thundering boot steps of the pirates as they march you closer and closer to the _Burning Queen._ More pirates aboard the ship glare at you with sneers on their dirty faces, some throwing rather lewd comments your way as you’re forced to board the giant ship. You catch sight of Ludwig once aboard, a sudden rage filling you. The German simply smirks darkly at you before returning to his work. The pirate holding you forces you to what you assume is the Captain’s Quarters. Another pirate knocks on the door.

“What is it?” a voice from inside the cabin barks.

“We ‘ave ‘er, Cap’n,” the pirate replies. There’s a moment of silence before the clicking of a lock is heard.

“What are ye waitin’ for, ye bloody bastard? Send ‘er in.” The pirate holding you captive forces you inside, damn near throwing you to the floor. You fall to your hands and knees anyways due to the rocking of the ship. The door closes behind you, stealing away your only chance to escape. However, it doesn’t stop you from scrambling to your feet and pounding at the door, desperate to leave the ship and never turn back.

“Let me out!” you cry. Loud laughter can be heard from behind the heavy wooden door, making your heart sink. You back away from the door, but the thought of being in the same space as the captain of the _Burning Queen_ makes you stop, ice replacing the blood in your veins. Slowly, you turn to face the captain in fear.

Captain Arthur Kirkland watches you with a dark smirk, his green eyes hooded as they trail your every move. Every soft yet shaky pant that leaves your lips, every drop of sweat that drops, every tremble that wracks through your body doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde captain. Although you’re scared out of your mind, you force yourself to stare right back at the captain. He’s sitting in a chair that’s close to a very cluttered desk, one leg crossed over the other, ankle resting on knee. Off to his side is another blonde, one that stands tall. The second man looks young, perhaps in his early twenties, but despite his young looks, the murderous glower in his blue eyes betrays his otherwise friendly appearance.

“Ye know why yer here, lass?” Captain Arthur speaks after a long moment of silence. Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You had a fleeting thought that the blonde German had something to do with it. The captain uncrosses his legs and stands, and you shrink down after realizing he’s even taller than he seemed to be, even if he stands to be an inch or two shorter than the second man. “Allow me ta explain. One o’ me men received a le’er from a little parrot, a le’er explaining in detail on how one of me greatest rivals plans to place my head on a stake. Ye,” he says, drawing his cutlass and pointing it at you, “are goin’ ta help me find this bleedin’ bastard.”

“If I refuse?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. As soon as they leave your lips, the sharp point of the captain’s cutlass was pressed just under your jaw, almost hard enough to draw blood. Your breath hitches in your throat and you stop breathing in fear of being gutted like a fish. The captain leans forward, so close that you can see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks.

“Don’t ye ever talk ta me like that in front of me first mate,” he growls. “Ye will do what I say, as I say, when I say. If ye make one bloody mistake, I will send you to Davy Jones’ Locker. Do I make meself clear?” You barely nod, your eyes as wide as saucers and brimming with tears. Captain Arthur backs away, but doesn’t remove the cutlass. “Good girl. Now, yer gon’ tell me who gave ye that letter and any other information ye ‘ave on ‘im.” The cutlass is finally moved away from your throat, and on instinct, you take a deep breath and rub the spot the blade had touched with vigor. Captain Arthur sits back down, his cutlass tight in his grip. You notice his first mate has his hand on the handle of a pistol that hung from his hip, looking as if he’s itching to put a bullet through your head. Swallowing, you meet the captain’s green eyes.

“His name was Feliciano Vargas. He gave me the letter in Port Royal.”


	2. A/N: Warning

Hello, everyone! Unfortunately, this is not an update. Let's talk about something big called **_RESPECT._** To start off, I'm in college. I'm in college full time as a nursing student. I study eleven plus hours a day, not to mention I work and I struggle to maintain a healthy social life. I created my server so anyone who has a question can ask me directly. However, DEMANDING that I update or you'll come to my house with a weapon is UNACCEPTABLE.

Let me get one thing straight, because quite frankly, I'm beyond fucking pissed off. Today, I received a message saying that someone is threatening to come to my house with either eggs to egg my house, or to show up at my door with a baseball bat. First, this person threatens me, then they demand I update a fic. 

**NONE OF YOU TELL ME WHEN TO FUCKING UPDATE. YOU DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO FUCKING DO AND EXPECT ME TO DROP EVERYTHING AND DO WHAT YOU FUCKING SAY, LIKE YOU'RE AN OWNER AND I'M SOME LITTLE BITCH YOU CAN ORDER TO SIT OR STAY OR BEG.**

If I receive another message containing a threat or demanding me to update a specific story, without fucking notice, I will delete that story. Do not test me. I am sick of this childish shit. Grow the fuck up and realize that I'm not going to take any of this bullshit.

Also, a HUGE THANK YOU to those of you who understand that I may not update for a long time due to my busy schedule. You guys are fucking awesome and I love chatting with each and every one of you! You guys are the reason why I write these stories, and when I update, I make sure to put out the best possible content that I can. I love each and every one of you, and I hope to talk to everyone more!

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve enjoyed the chapter, leave a comment, kudo, bookmark, and subscribe to be notified when the story is updated!


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